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A  Collection  of  Poems 


<By 


Lyde  Todd  Haskins 


,/fm. 


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A^c&vi/izjf  yfy 


A  Collection  of  Poems 


Copyright,  1917,  hy  Lyde  To  J  J  Haskins 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/collectionofpoemOOhaskrich 


Coming  of  the  Soldier  Boys 

(1899) 

All  shout  welcome !  both  the  young  and  old ! 
Kind  Providence  returns  our  boys,  the  bold. 
Welcome  the  brave  from  others'  deals, 
Their  hearts  to  duty  done,  our  homage  yields. 
No  more  "hard-tack,"  nor  suspicious  beef, 
No  more  Eagan  turn  to  give  a  relief, 
No  more  struggle  nor  encampment  strife — 
For  them  Kentucky  and  placid  life. 
The  war  with  them  is  o'er  and  we  say 
Their  home  is  here  and  they  have  come  to  stay. 
To  sweethearts  and  loved  ones  they  have  come 
And  naught  was  laid  from  shell  nor  bomb. 
*         *         *         * 

A  Memorial 

Hear  of  aspiring,  fair  Miss  Dorset, 
Who  a  model  would  appear 
Outside  here  embracing  (  )  ; 

At  the  broad-ribbed  she  would  sneer. 
"I'll  look  neat  and  look  petite," 
So  snugly  she  drew  the  gear. 

Later,  seldom   noticed  'twas  she'd  smile. 

To  laugh  her  constant  fear. 

At  dining  she  sat  the  briefest  while 

For  a  model  she  would  appear. 

Just  to  look  neat  and  look  petite 

More  snugly  she  drew  the  gear. 

The  roses  yellowed  on  her  face, 

Blue  lips  showed  symptoms  drear; 

French  heels  were  dragged  in  slowest  pace, 

But  a  model  she  chose  to  appear 

And  would  look  neat,  would  look  petite — 

Closer  yet  she  drew  the  gear. 

The  brilliance  dulled  far  back  in  her  eyes, 
Her  breathing  shorter  efforts,  here, 
The  cause?  her  answer  quick  denies, 
For  a  model  she  would  appear 
And  would  look  neat  and  look  petite — 
Together  she  drew  her  gear. 

Then  pulseless  the  conquered  anatomy  lay. 
Were  sad  her  parting  words  to  hear, 
Thro  vanity,  vanity  that  will  live  alway. 
Even  then  a  model  she  would  appear — 
"My  last  wish  to  look  neat  and  look  petite" — 
The  furled  idol  with  flowers  was  placed  on  her  bier. 

360759 


A  Letter 

Of  the  oft  said  amount 
You  have  placed  in  my  account, 
This  "dollar  and  two" 
So  long  past  due, 
I've  endeavored  to  find 
From  vision  and   mind 
Some  trace  of  its  worth, 
For  gold  is  now  dearth. 
Futile   the   attempt. 
From  this  task  not  exempt, 
Of  all  I'll  explain 
Nor  would  longer  refrain ; 
You  in  courtesy  I  accost, 
Your  patience  do  not  exhaust, 
In   truth   'tis  a   need 
We  must  nurture,  feed. 
Your  loss,  not  my  intent, 
For  a  letter  I  have  sent 
That  contained  one  request 
Well  meant,  void  of  jest. 
I  repeat  it,  itemize 
The  bill  you  would  realize — 
For  this  poem  sent  to  you, 
Your  indebtedness,  "dollar  and  two." 
*         *         *         * 

A  Miniature  Portrait 

(1903) 
A  true  delight  for  leisure  sight 
This  paragon  of  beauteous  grace. 
Were  Paris's  voice  now  heard  in  choice 
'Twould  be  the  fair  Virginia's  face. 

None  but  could  tell  this  former  belle, 
Petite  and  proud  yet  thoughtful,  too, 
Virginia  fair  with  jetty  hair 
And  eyes  bewitching  blue. 

Forsooth,  it  seems,  the  poet  deems, 
Obeying  nymphs  with  eyes  intent 
Knelt  by  a  repose  and  'fore  they  arose 
Left  sea  shells  there  the  gods  had   sent. 

Seems  they  did  heed  her  ev'ry  need 
Near  to  perfection  of  her  type 
Of  womanhood ;  Decimo  good 
Decreed  for  e'er  the  fortunes  ripe. 

The  friends  essay  to  haste  the  day 

Of  her  return  for  duties  light, 

That  bring  the  smiles  and  cause  the  whiles 

Of  inspiration,  the  poet's  might. 


An  Immortal  Influence 

This  universal  power  of  earth 

To  nation's  combats,  gives  peace  a  birth  ; 

Has  caused  the  lazy  to  work  a  while 
And  gives  maiden  ladies  a  peculiar  smile ; 
It  has  profited  the  shrewd  to  them  an  agent  dear. 
Independent  practitioners  have  leaned  the  accepting  ear. 
It  has  paused  the  aroused  tongue  of  prepared  malicious 

course, 
Assuaged  proposing  bachelors'  most  awkward  hoarse, 
Has  inspired  the  conventional  to  deviate  his  key, 
And  lifted  the  social  aspirant  a  definite  degree. 
It  has  silenced  the  talkative  to  thoughts  most  wise, 
And  restrained  the  queen's  deep-wonted  sighs. 
It  has  created  a  youth  in  the  shrunken  old, 
And  persuaded  the  miser  to  will  his  gold. 
Has  induced  the  reticent  to  speak  a  long  part, 
And  absorbed  the  indifferent  with  all  mind  and  heart. 
It  has  braced  the  despondent  ill  to  a  believing  hope 
And  elevated  the  head  of  the  school  boy  mope. 
It   has   lulled   the   observing   poor   to   more   contented 

hours. 
Mother's  new  appreciations  press  closer  lisping  flowers. 
It   has   smoothed   the   stern   warrior's   bold,   menacing 

frown, 
And  pleased  the  king  to  risk  the  crown. 
To  young  girls  it's  a  magic  for  thro  the  scantest  bit 
They  are  sustained  buxom  through  the  exchange  of  it, 
The  universal  Compliment  whether  prose  or  rhyme, 
In  quantity  and  quality  occasioned  any  time. 
*         *         *         * 

A  Brief  Soliloquy  of  a  Pill 

(1901) 

Insipid,   sweet,   or   bitter,   whether, 

Round,  oblong,  or  flat,  or  square, 

Or  white,  or  black,  green,  pink  or  brown — 

And  many  names  I'm  called. 

No  laughter  e'er  my  purpose  thwarts, 

For  charity  is  my  intent. 

Ungrateful  is  the  one 

Who  stares  at  me  with  great  alarm 

And  lips  pressed  tightly  in  prompt  despair. 

With  peace  of  diaphragm  at  stake, 

Deferred  in  hands  inclined  to  throw 

What  substitute  could  one  prefer? 

I'd  give  of  ev'ry  good  that  I  possess — 

If  chronic,  novice  ones  make  haste — 

If  I  could  ask,  ah,  draught  with  me 

Tomorrow's  praise  and  the  Universe 

Would  accept  me  as  I  am. 


Two 

They  have  caught  and  hold  the  usual  smile, 
Of  weight,  their  duties,  unknown  to  simple  life ; 
None  but  the  few  are  ever  worth  while, 
To  be  "among  those  present"  is  ever  their  strife. 

She  weeps  o'er  the  loss  of  Teddy's  ear  and  nose 
And  the  rude  track  on  her  pet  dog's  grave ; 
Baby's  ill,  nurse  tends,  to  amusements  she  goes, 
To  endure  it  all  she's  a  soldier  brave. 

Her   picture's   for  the   paper   in   attractive   pose, 
Like  a  cloud-maid  afloat  in  the  stormy  sky, 
With  a  book  in  her  hand,  cultured,  she  knows, 
Or  dreamily  watching  the  stream  gone  dry. 

She  bids  farewell  to  dimmed  blooms  on  her  hat, 
Recalling  each  compliment  heard. 
Ah,  she's  a  mind  to  remember  all  that, 
She  can  quote  each  emphasized  word. 

Then  she  bends  o'er  his  pale  blue  mandolin 
Which  attack  he  trembles  like  a  waving  tree, 
While  she  plans  new  gowns,  invitations  to  win 
And  trips  to  new  points  "others  present"  to  see. 

She  possesses  all  things  for  her  very  own 
Nor  the  least  in  vogue  would  she  lack. 
Her  latest  purchase,  her  lord's  latest  moan, 
ihs  mother's  sympathy  his  pockets  repack. 

They  have  caught  and  hold  the  usual  smile, 
Their  public  linguae  is  for  public  life, 
Nothing  but  show  is  ever  worth  while, 
To  keep  "among  those  present"  will  be  their  strife. 


Tis  Spring 


Come  out,  for  ev'rywhere  'tis  Spring. 
The  golden  poppies  thro  fields  aglow, 
The  zephyrs  waft  the  violets  sweet, 
The    almond    blooms   are    white    as    snow 
All-colored  tulips  greet. 

The  daffodils  near,  pansies  bright, 
The  palms  wave  o'er  the  ivy  green, 
Exultant  larks  in  joyous  flight, 
The  carols  from  the  thrushes  seen, 
There's  sunshine  ev'rywhere — 'tis  Spring. 


A  Fable 

'Twas  in  a  flowery,  woodland  vale 

Where  the  divulger  of  this  tale 

Mid   shadowy   leaves   neath    vine-draped   mossy   boughs, 

Heard  a  warbler's  soulful  song, 

That  held  the  passer  long. 

Inspired  she  sang  to  heaven  her  sacred  vows. 

A  listening  wise  old  owl 

Wore  a  momentary  scowl, 

For  the  warbler  would  not  sing  to  him  of  love. 

He  told  to  her  his  choice 

In   his  all-commanding  voice, 

That  she  sing  to  him  her  sweetest  from  above. 

In  a  nest  not  far  away 

His  mate  and  owlies  gray 

Were  lonesome  in  a  tall  and  charred  oak  tree. 

Their  pensive,  low  "to-who?" 

Was  a  strangeness  to  them  new, 

As  near  a  sanctum  bough  the  owl  would  be. 

On  a  moonlit,  starry  night 

The  warbler  planned  her  flight, 

Stilled   her  song  and   drew  her  head  beneath   he. 

While  he  heard  their  sad  "to-who?" 

The  owl  more  thoughtful  grew, 

Embittered  memories  for  e'er  might  cling. 

A  bird  of  Paradise 

His  heart  then  did  entice. 

As    darkening    clouds    passed    by    he    drooped    his    head. 

He  heard  their  sad  "to-who?" 

Toward  their  nest  "to  you!  to  you!" 

And  for  his  mate's  old  dearest  song  he  plead. 

*         *         *         *  / 


Kentucky's  Weed 


Sow  them  in  the  plant  bed,  those  tiny  brown  seed, 

In  the  kind  of  soil  to  produce  the  valued  weed. 

Then  at  the  proper  season  set  the  plants  out, 

For  the  consuming  objects  view  the  leaves  about. 

Cut  the  stems  before  the  frost  to  dry  upon  the  scaffold. 

Then  leaf  them  and  tie  into  hands  to  be  raffled. 

Suspend  it  in  the  barn  till  it's  "in  case"  from  the  rain. 

Strip  and  then  bundle  with  the  rustic's  cheered  refrain. 

Load  it  in  the  wagon,  then  haul  it  to  the  place 

Where  it's  to  stop  in  line  to  be  auctioneered  apace. 

It's  near  a  twelve-month  care  for  the  tending  of  this  weed, 

That  since  Columbus  landed  it's  a  universal  weed. 

It's  to  dye,  to  sniff,  exterminate  and  fertilize, 

It's  to  reduce  the  debt  and  bring  sweets  with  baby's  prize. 

From  the  pipe,  rings  of  peace ;  from  the  plug,  her  lingu  a  lash 

To  be  the  Trust's  fortune  in  lug,  leaf  and  trash. 


A  Favorite 

Facetious,  winsome,  debonair, 

With   voice  so   richly  sweet, 

And  nymphly  grace,  hers,  charming,  rare, 

In  loveliness  complete. 

Unselfish  and  devoid  of  guile, 
Nor  Juno's  fault  is  hers; 
All  youths  enamored  with  her  smile, 
Dislike  of  none  incurs. 

Nor  would  she  scorn  the  wooer  least, 
Nor  deem  it  gay  nor  best 
To  feign  regard  that  love  increased, 
Impassioned  ones  attest. 

Her  innate  kindliness  dispels 
Malicious-languaged  mirth. 
No  perfidy  e'er  hers  which  tells 
Her  known  transcendent  worth. 


Of  Miss  Helen  Gould 

(1902) 
Come,  muse  of  this  profoundest  art 
Oft  called,  preside  now  o'er  my  pen 
Nor  mayst  thou  depart 
'Till  I  have  sung  of  Helen,  then 
Thy  leave  and  respite  take. 
Of  Helen  who  hath  yet  not  learned? 
Some  heavenly  goddess  chose  to  bring 
Divinest  gifts  to  her  whom  none  hath  spurned. 
Joy,  mine  to  sing, 
For  heiress  too,  of  wisdom,  she, 
In  briefest  praise  delighted  most, 
Eschews  that  sordid  pride  to  be 
A  kind  redresser  hating  boast. 
Hers,  a  beauty  the  sculptor  craves, 
A  model  for  his  dexterous  hand. 
Hers,  a  smile  that  the  artist  saves 
Despite  the  gentle  command. 
'Tis  a  happy  doom 

O  Flora's  care  that  are  for  Helen  grown, 
The  meadow  flower  and  mountain  bloom 
Now   worn   where   jewels   previous   shone. 
Abundant  cheer  for  all,  her  thought, 
A  sweet  contentment  finds,  and  frequent  sought. 
Continued  homage  to  her  not  amiss. 
Write  her  name  with  immortal  hand, 
Helen,  noblest  heiress  of  the  land. 


Lullaby 


Rotkaby,  lullaby,  clouds  pass  the  moon, 

Are  you  now  resting,  dear  baby  mine? 
Rockaby,  lullaby,  twilignt  came  soon  ; 

1  tend  you,  baby  mine. 
Jessamines  white  all  their  fragrance  unfold, 

Wee,  precious  baby  of  mine. 
I'll  rock  you  lightly  ana  gently  will  hold 

You  in  my  arms,  baby  mine. 

Rockaby,  lullaby,  sounds  low,  comes  the  night, 

Drowsy  blue  eyes  no  longer  can  ope. 
Rockaby.  lullaby,  e'en  one  kiss  might 

Wake  you,  sweet  baby  mine. 
Oh,  on  the  morrow  a  thousand  I'll  press 

On  your  soft  brow,  baby  mine. 
Nor  can  you  ever  so  gently  caress 

Me,  helpless  joy,  baby  mine. 

Rockaby,  lullaby,  lonely,  the  hour. 

Slumber,  my  darling,  dear  baby  mine. 
Rockaby,  lullaby,  mine  only  flower, 

Slumber,  fair  treasure  mine. 
Mother  still  rocks  you  and  looks  o'er  the  lea, 

Slumber  dear  Angel  of  mine. 
Jesus  kept  father  safe  for  you  and  me, 

Dream  on,  then,  dear  baby  mine. 

(In  "Jems  of  Poesy,".  Copyrighted  1904.) 
(Music  to  "Lullaby"  will  soon  be  published  by 
the  author.) 


Music 

Pause  where  the  wind  thro  the  sacred   pines 

Breathes  to  the  world  its  own  lament ; 

Where  the  timid  streams  thro  rippled  lines 

Among  rocks  purl  low  their  discontent. 

List  to  the  dove  in  plaintive  call, 

The  lonely  coo  response  might  bring. 

The  sound  of  oars  in  regular  fall 

Echoed  thro  channels,  the  indolent  swing. 

The  thunder's  break  with  commanding  roar 

Trembling  the  sky  and  fearful  earth. 

The  sea's  expiate  moan  to  the  tranquil  shore. 

Springtime's  harmonies,  accordant  mirth. 

Lo,  the  muffled  chimes  that  toll  a  hymn 

Thro  reverent  tones  that  lead  the  soul 

In  the  autumn  hour  to  heaven's  brim 

Near  the  holy  shrine  of  mortality's  goal. 


The  Strollers 

Now,  important,  the  aspect,  with  confident  smiles, 
For  the  colors  and  fits  were  the  latest  bought  styles, 
Of  that  maiden  and  youth  of  one  spirit  the  day 
'Twas  decided  to  take  a  stroll  out  a  far  way. 
Nor  selected  the  by-path  scenes  for  their  view 
But  did  stroll  out  Broadway  then  Fifth  Avenue ; 
Nor  did  tire  they  of  aught  in  the  old  Dutch  town, 
But  continued  the  stroll  and  did  feel  their  renown. 
Unobserved,  the  attractions  they  frequently  passed, 
But  indifferent,  they,  for  their  thoughts  were  then  cast 
On  their  colors  and  fits  of  the  latest  bought  styles 
Which  appeared  as  they  wished  for  the  glorious  whiles. 
Out  the  thorofare  into  the  narrow  wheel  gate 
Of  that  Park  so  extensive,  where  wonders  await. 
Energetic  their  walk  with  emphatic  sound 
For  achievement,  their  project,  tho  silently  bound. 
The  Museum,  first,  with  the  curios,  art, 
The  display  for  their  pleasure  afforded  no  part. 
Then  apace,  crossed  the  bridge  for  the  mall  neath  the  elms 
By  the  seats  for  spectators,  fatigue  overwhelms. 
The  attainment  was  that  a  great  effort  be  made 
And  accordingly  strolled  on  a  stern  promenade. 
The  minutest  observance  for  each   they  had  won 
Then  departed  for  greater  success  had  begun. 
The  ambitious  delights  ne'er  before  were  as  keen 
And  forgetful  that  hours  had  been  flying  unseen, 
They  uplifted  their  heads  with  more  gratified  souls, 
To  the  Ramble  caprice  lured  them  on  in  their  strolls, 
And  their  colors  and  fits  of  the  latest  bought  styles 
On  the  lake  might  reflect  they  conceived  in  their  smiles. 
But  the  din  of  the  late  crowd  soon  occasioned  their  return, 
Condescending,  their  glances,  alarmed  in  concerned, 
The   contrasted   appearance — not   eagerly   bold 
In  approaching  the  crowd,  they  reluctantly  strolled. 
The  merry  advance  they  had  watched  in  a  fear 
And  more  vexed  had  become  when  the  late  crowd  drew  near; 
Turned  their  gazes  a-ground,  their  minds  were  depressed, 
Disappointment  possessed  them  as  all  they  had  guessed. 
They  were  changed  so  in  aspect,  devoid  of  a  smile ; 
Both  their  colors  and  fits  out  of  date  in  each  style 
And  were  chosen  the  by-path  scenes  for  their  view 
From  the  throngs  of  Broadway  and  Fifth  Avenue — 
Their  thoughts  of  themselves,  in  their  haste,  were  so  drear, 
Their  homes  were  soon  reached  for  Obscurity's  cheer. 

^  if=  5fc  Jfc  H*  %  * 

Superficial  are  vanities,  they  but  annoy. 
Ill  preferred  are  the  fancies  to  studied  employ. 
And  exhaustless  the  labors  that  gain  best  result — 
Meritorious  products  will  ne'er  be  occult. 


At  the  Rink 

How  merry  the  streets 

Toward  the  rink. 
How  stinting  time  fleets 

At  the  rink. 
When   the   rolling,   strenuous   noise 
Is  heard  with  music's  joys 
By  attendant  girls  and  boys 

At  the  rink. 

There's  a  force  of  gravitation 

At  the  rink ; 
But  more's  the  determination 

At  the  rink. 
Ah,  alas,  the  greatest  mirth 
For  the  novice  is  but  dearth 
Since  he  left  his  native  hearth 

For  the  rink. 

The  champion's  faultless  hour 

At  the  rink, 
Scatters  praises  in  a  shower 

At  the  rink. 
For  each  chosen  straight  or  curve 
His  steady  grace  will  serve 
From   the  intruder's  aimless  swerve 

At  the  rink. 

There've  been  hearts  with  the  hands 

At  the  rink, 
United  in  firm-pledged  stands 

At  the  rink. 
No  fidelities  purloined 
From  the  lives  that  were  joined 
Thro  the  friendships  that  were  coined 

At  the  rink. 


Wg.tl&lgsigili 

UW 

The  Future  of  English  Verse 

The  mass  of  the  reading  English  have  so  learned  to  appre- 
ciate thought  expressed  in  verse  that  poetry  has  become  an 
essential  luxury. 

in  the  history  of  English  literature,  since  the  early  rhym- 
ists  of  the  fourth  century  there  was  never  so  great  a  demand 
for  poetry  as  the  present  time  and  this  demand  is  supplied  by 
the  continual  introduction  of  unknown  poets  thro  papers,  and 
magazines  that  are  devoting  pages  to  poetry. 

What  is  so  pleasing  and  simultaneously  impressive  as 
fancy  and  fact  poetically  treated?  Not  infrequently  a  play, 
discourse  or  book  is  held  in  remembrance  by  forceful  rhymes. 

A  lawyer  stated  that  he  had  won  a  case  thro  a  relevant 
prosodical  quotation. 

The  assertion  that  the  rhymes  have  all  been  "used  up" 
has  been  made  in  proof  of  the  non-existence  of  English  verse. 
Many  poets  have  repeatedly  employed  the  same  rhymes,  but 
of  the  multifarious  thoughts  that  may  call  the  same  rhymes 
into  use  no  estimate  could  be  made.  Thought  is  the  substance 
of  verse,  rhyme  one  of  the  additional  charms. 

As  to  the  merit  of  poems  much  mediocre  verse  finds  a  pub- 
lisher, is  quoted,  perhaps,  and  forgotten ;  while  the  perma- 
nently appealing,  worthy  of  perpetuation,  maintains  a  superior 
and  lasting  usefulness. 

In  vocal  music  nothing  so  accurately  accords  with  a 
decided  tempo  as  a  definite  metrical  arrangement  of  words. 
Prose  of  no  recognized  rhythm  cannot  be  successfully  substi- 
tuted for  poetry.  And  will  not  the  nation  ever  have  its 
national  song  and  the  popular  ballads? 

So  long  as  immortal  poets  are  read,  and  inspiration 
created ;  so  long  as  the  heart  can  be  touched  thro  pathos  and 
cheer;  so  long  as  technical  variation  is  employed;  so  long  as 
new  words  are  coined  and  the  foreign  words  domesticated, 

All  the  rhymes 
For  future  times 

can  never  be  "used  up" — these  insure  the  future  of  English 
verse. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 

STAMPED  BELOW 

Books  not  returned  on  time  are  subject  to  a  fine  of 
50c  per  volume  after  the  third  day  overdue,  increasing 
to  $1.00  per  volume  after  the  sixth  day.  Books  not  in 
demand  may  be  renewed  if  application  is  made  before 
expiration  of  loan  period. 


APR  11  WW 


50m-7,'16 


Gaylord  Bros. 

Makers 


Syracuse, 


N.Y. 


PAT.  JAN.  21,1908 


